


Eggnog

by waltzmatildah



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/pseuds/waltzmatildah
Summary: Set mid-Alex/Lexie part two (think, recycling and hearts in vaginas!). Alex attempts to make eggnog.





	Eggnog

He thinks his first mistake was probably ditching the rum and going for tequila instead. He blames Lexie’s hastily scribbled instructions that simply read, _add the booze_ as the final line, and tries not to shudder too viciously at the taste as he takes a tentative sip.

The house looks like an elf threw up in it. And _that_ he blames on April. There’s a lopsided tree pushed up against the wall in the den that is full of colour co-ordinated decorations and tinsel that sheds all over the floor at a mere _glance_ in its direction. There’s an odd assortment of gifts piled beneath its spindly branches, and he’s already given each and every one of them a cursory shake and a bit of a squeeze.

He didn’t buy presents himself, but he notes Lexie has added his name to all the gift cards she’s carefully printed. He grins wryly and makes a mental note to thank her for it later.

Much later.

And preferably without words.

He takes a second sip of his tequila/eggnog type concoction and decides it tastes better that he remembered the first sip did. Chalks one up to experimentation and re-fills his glass. Wanders absently through the house and tries not to lose himself completely in all the empty spaces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s slouched on the couch when the front door creaks open. He’s got the television on, but the sound is turned down. The chick singing the carols being broadcast live is hot, but not even her barely there dress is enough to make him want to listen to the actual songs.

He’d rather scratch his eyeballs out with his own fingernails than listen to some chick with a squeaky voice wail about wise men and drummer boys.

Thank you very much.

The glass in his hand is empty. Again. He remembers re-filling it a couple of times over the course of the evening. At one point he’d had a shot of the stuff for every time he imagined they said the word _merry_. A particularly productive drinking game, if ever he’s played one.

The room does a slow spin as a figure melts into view in front of him…

“Alex?”

He grins. Can’t quite figure out which one it is. April? Lexie? Thinks, if he goes in for a kiss and doesn’t get slapped, then it’s most definitely the latter…

_Crap…_

“What the hell?”

The April/Lexie person again. He tries not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and attempts, concertedly, to calculate how much eggnogtequilamaybesomerumaswell he’s actually managed to consume.

Fails.

Dismally.

Shrugs instead, because it’s so much easier.

“Hi.” Goes with something non-defining to save himself the smack down if he stumbles and guesses wrong.

“Oh my God. You’re wasted.”

He thinks that’s probably stating the obvious but offers up his defiant objection to the accusation nonetheless.

“Nooooooo’m not.”

Or something like that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She makes him coffee. Two sugars, no milk and without the need to clarify. He deduces _Lexie_ from that and wraps his arms around her from behind. Rests his head on her shoulder as she stirs and tries not to fall asleep.

“Mmmm, you smell good.” Which she does. Like cookies and surgery and all his favourite things.

She giggles and the sound vibrates through his chest.

“And you smell like the floor at Joe's at the end of a really big night.”

“You love it.” At least, he hopes she does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He dares her to taste the eggnog and refuses to shut up about it until she promises to at least look at it.

“That’s the last time I ever cook for you,” he pouts as she sniffs at the jug and wrinkles her nose.

“It’s hardly cooking,” she counters, grin wide.

“Whatever, it’s the thought that counts.” Though, to be honest, he can’t actually remember what it was he was thinking about when he used a wooden spoon to stir the milky looking mixture he’d just created.

He watches as she uses a tea spoon to skim across the surface of the drink. Brings it out again with a grimace.

“You do realise you curdled it, right? What the _hell_ did you put in here?”

And he decides to interpret her incredulous exclamation as some kind of wondrous amazement at his creativity. It’s either that or focus on the lumps of solid milk matter that are now floating languidly in the half empty jug and, presumably, his gut. Nice.

“Tequila,” he finally admits and her eyebrows raise an inch or several.

“Tequila? You put _tequila_ in the eggnog?”

“And maybe some rum. And April had an open bottle of something girlie in the cupboard so I might have added that too.” He considers for a moment… “At least, I’m pretty sure I did.”

“And then you drank it?”

He frowns. Confused. “Well, yeah…” Because, again, obvious.

“You, Alex Karev,” she sighs, turning to wrap her arms high around his neck, “should not be trusted alone with alcohol. You’ve clearly been living with my sister for far too long…”

Punctuates the statement with a kiss he feels all the way to his toes.

“Oh, yeah?” he counters with a sly grin and more than a little innuendo, “wanna see what else she taught me?”


End file.
